


Guest Appearance

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 00:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11429451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Santana crashes Kurt and Blaine's beach trip.





	Guest Appearance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Blaine had just finished his first cup of coffee when he heard the front door to their beach house rental fly open.

Too startled to do anything but freeze at first, Blaine ambled over to the stairway carefully, glancing down the railing into the tiny hallway and blinking in surprise. Dressed in a rich red sundress, Santana cut a striking figure in the empty room, high heels clicking on the tile as she deposited her bags on one of the couches. "Rise and shine, baby gays; Auntie Tana has arrived," she called, ascending the stairwell as Blaine scurried back into the kitchen.

A sleep-tousled, disgruntled Kurt met him halfway, letting out a bereaved sigh as he hooked his chin over Blaine's shoulder and asked, "Where did she get a key?"

"I think we left the door unlocked last night," Blaine reminded, almost apologetically. It was his fault: he knew that Kurt could never resist a good foot rub, and as soon as he'd started massaging his feet, neither of them had had second thoughts about remembering to check the door or potential unwanted visitors, embracing their own solitude. In Blaine's defense, Kurt had been irresistible, lounging against the arm of the couch with his reading glasses on and a book in hand, almost oblivious to Blaine's presence but always, subtly, aware, one foot canted against Blaine's thigh as he read.

Either way: Santana was there, regarding them both with a smile that didn't bode well for either of them.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked, jumping straight to the point as he released Blaine and stepped aside, drawing himself to his full height. "Aren't you supposed to be with Brittany somewhere?"

"She's visiting her family, relax," Santana dismissed, padding into the kitchen and flipping open cabinets as she went. "Okay, I know you two are already sickeningly romantic, but there is no way that you didn't bring any alcohol on this trip," she said.

Kurt reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose while Blaine rested a hip against one of the couches, balancing his empty cup in his hand as he watched Santana root through the cabinets to seemingly no avail. "Santana," Kurt began again, dropping his hand and steeling himself for what would evidently be a long and stern conversation about the legal definitions of privacy and trespassing.

"Relax, Hummel, I'm only here for your beach view and your booze. Jackpot," she added triumphantly, holding the closet door open and smirking.

"Santana, you cannot stay here," Kurt said firmly. "We didn't invite you."

"That's funny, because I seem to recall a certain, mind-scarring image of the two of you engaged in some pretty heated homoerotic superhero fantasy that says you did."

The blush that overtook Kurt's cheeks was almost alarming in its intensity as he gaped soundlessly for words, Blaine very quietly edging just out of sight around the corner.

Oh God, Nightbird. They'd been so careful â€“ so careful â€“ not to get caught by Santana, ever, until that one time when they were both so into it and Kurt was just so hot and Blaine didn't hear the curtain being pulled aside until there was a click and then it was all over.

"Fine," Kurt snapped, regaining his footing as he sighed and padded off into the bedroom. "Don't let her burn anything down; I need a shower," he told Blaine, disappearing behind their master bedroom door a moment later.

Santana sashayed out onto the deck, sliding the door shut behind her and leaving Blaine alone, once more, in the living room.

Without a word, he padded over to the counter and poured himself another coffee.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

To his surprise, the day wasn't nearly as bad as Blaine had been expecting it to be.

Santana spent most of the morning out on the beach alone, giving Kurt and Blaine time to brainstorm ways to persuade her to leave or at least barricade their door in a way that she wouldn't be able to enter their bedroom in the middle of the night to capture any more candids.

Of course, with Santana around at all, Blaine's libido wasn't exactly vibrant, even though he couldn't help but kiss back when Kurt sighed and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss after his second coffee. "I'll talk to her," he promised, and Blaine felt vaguely uneasy but mostly trusting as he nodded and pressed his forehead to Kurt's shoulder instead, looping his arms around Kurt's waist and rocking him slowly, aimlessly in the center of their kitchen.

He loved spending time with Kurt, loved the openness and relative solitude of being on the oceanfront. The beaches were hot but not stiflingly so, the crowds sparse enough that it felt like their own corner of the world. Having Santana around might affect how often and openly they dared to have sex, but it couldn't change the beach, at least, and Blaine resolved to make the most of the vacation either way.

Luckily, she didn't reappear all morning, giving them time to settle down from their respective bristly (Kurt) and mournful (Blaine) highs into something more pleasant and intimate, cuddled up on the couch together while Kurt read and Blaine dozed, comfortable in his arms. Kurt never had free time to speak of back at the loft, always flitting between one project and the next. On the beach, he was calmer but equally resplendent, commanding authority in the same easy way without half the stress.

It was nice, and Blaine loved being able to bask in it, to curl up in Kurt's arms and just listen to his breathing, deep and slow, echoed by the ocean not far beyond.

He might have happily stayed there forever if Kurt hadn't insisted after a countless period of time, "Come on. Let's go to the beach."

Blaine groaned because he was so comfortable, and Kurt was happy enough reading his book, but he still understood Kurt's point as he let himself be nudged to his feet.

He'd almost forgotten about Santana entirely by the time they were both lathered up in sunscreen (Blaine mostly at Kurt's insistence). It wasn't until they stepped on the sand and spotted her a third of the way down the beach, lounging on one of her towels in a bikini, that Blaine remembered that they weren't actually alone.

"Just ignore her," Kurt insisted, arm in arm with Blaine as they walked down the beach.

They walked as the water pursued them slowly up the shore, reaching high tide and falling back on their return trip. Kurt's cheeks were flushed but the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement whenever he laughed, a pure, perfect sound that made Blaine want to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him until he knew exactly how wonderful he was.

Santana's presence may have been unplanned, Blaine acknowledged, as Kurt and he made their way back to the house, already discussing lunch options; but as long as he had Kurt, then he didn't need anyone or anything else to be happy, and he wasn't worried at all about her interfering.

* * *

Which was probably why he was caught off guard when Santana somehow managed to get them both well and truly drunk shortly after nightfall.

Blaine didn't even know how it had started. Or maybe he did, because it was always just one drink at first, one drink, and then all the hard edges were gone and Kurt was soft and pliant at his side. Everything just felt fruitier, like someone had injected color into the air and he could sing it if he wanted to.

After that, well, it was no surprise that his remaining inhibitions evaporated.

They'd gotten seafood for dinner and Blaine nibbled on bits and pieces as Santana and Kurt argued about what colors they should paint each other's nails at the table. Idling up behind Kurt and hugging his shoulders, resting his chin on top of his hair, Blaine watched him test out a light blue on his fingernails, humming his own approval. Humming quickly turned to nuzzling when he registered just how soft Kurt's hair was, startling another laugh from him as Kurt reached up to pat his back and say, "Honey. Honey, you're drunk."

Blaine tried to tell him that he wasn't drunk, but the purple nail polish caught his eye first and Santana rolled her eyes before beckoning him over with a, "Come here, hobbit."

She wasn't half as terrifying as he remembered her being, calmly painting his nails as he sat in rapt attention, gaze flicking back to Kurt every so often to confirm that he was there.

They'd already gone through most of the wine by the time Santana was rigging fireworks up to the porch, at which point Kurt yelped and intervened with a loud, "Santana, no!"

Blaine hummed to himself as he listened to them debate the merits (and practical limitations) of launching fireworks, even small ones, off the balcony.

Lying on his back on the couch, he stared at the light blue of the ceiling and pondered Kurt's fingernails, staring mournfully at his own purple ones because they didn't quite match.

Eventually, Kurt returned, leading a disgruntled Santana back into the living room as he dropped a pile of unopened and unlit fireworks on the floor. Blaine only tilted his head enough to watch him amble across the room before holding out his arms invitingly, humming happily as Kurt obligingly crawled into them.

Waiting until he was settled, Blaine intertwined their fingers and stared at their nails, letting out a satisfied noise of approval as Kurt asked, "What?"

"They match," he reported happily.

Kurt blinked, tilting their hands so he could see the nails before laughing again.

"I didn't actually think it was possible, but alcohol actually makes you two even sappier than normal," Santana declared from across the room as Blaine hugged Kurt closer.

Sappy or not, he still had everything he needed.

* * *

When Blaine awoke, the first thing that he noticed was the dull pounding in his skull.

He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had -- and he didn't care to -- but dressed only in his navy briefs with Kurt snoring away at his side, he felt trepidation unfurling in his stomach as he blinked and took in his surroundings.

Shimmying slowly out of bed, not bothering with clothes yet because that would require buttoning his pants properly and he wasn't sure if he was awake enough to do that yet, he padded out into the living room and froze at the sight of Santana lounging in a corner, Kurt's book in her hand.

He debated questioning her, fell back on the idea of coffee instead, and gratefully poured himself a cup once it was ready.

"I didn't actually think the nocturnal avenger would make an appearance before noon," Santana said without looking up from her book.

Blaine very quietly but determinedly rested his forehead against the table, groaning softly as he did so.

It was going to be a very, very long week.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
